


The Sound Of Life And Death

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Constellations, F/M, Gods, Hades - Freeform, M/M, Sirens, Tragedy, Underworld, earth vs space, team earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: When Fitz plays his lyre, the world listens. Everyone and everything is charmed by his music. He travels the country and plays his songs for people who agree to give him a warm meal and shelter for the night. One day, a sailor offers Fitz an adventure. There's a remote island and in order to reach it, they have to get through a dangerous reef full of sirens. Fitz is supposed to play his lyre to keep the sailors from listening to the luring songs of the sirens. But everything goes different than expected ... (Written for the November Constellation Challenge for Team Earth. Constellation: Lyra. Loosely basing on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice - with a twist)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29
Collections: Team Earth's November Challenge





	The Sound Of Life And Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Springmagpies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springmagpies/gifts).



> The constellation of Lyra was chosen by Maggie (@Springmagpies) who helped a lot with the plot, thanks so much for being amazing ❤️
> 
> And @Florchis made a beautiful [aesthetic](https://florchis.tumblr.com/post/189440063901/the-moment-jemma-simmons-and-leopold-fitz-meet-at) for this constellation!

Fitz plays his lyre, and the river stops flowing. The trees bend towards where he’s sitting on a rock, his bare toes breaching the cool water. A raven is staring at him from a branch transfixed, its head tilted, black eyes sparkling.

It has always been like this. Fitz plays his lyre and the world listens. Animals. Humans. Even natural forces. A certain melody could provoke a rainstorm, another made the sun break through the clouds and beam from the sky. 

The instrument is the only thing left of his father. Fitz never met him. He only knows him from vague stories of his mother. She spoke of him barely and when she did, her eyes filled with angry longing. He was a king of a distant exotic country, travelling through the highlands of Scotland. The lyre was a gift to Fitz’s mother. It was a magic instrument and the king assured her; it was made by the God Apollo. When she played it, everyone and everything listened in awe.

Fitz still remembers, how his mother used to play and sing him to sleep with the lyre. Remembers her sweet gentle words. Her music drowned out the noises of the storm outside and took his fear of the darkness away. When he was old enough, she taught him to play the lyre as well. She told him he was talented and would bring great joy to people with his music.

When she grew very ill and couldn’t get out of bed for weeks, it was Fitz, who played and sang by her bedside, until she fell asleep with a smile on her face. One day, she didn’t wake up anymore.

Her death hurt Fitz so much, he couldn’t stay at their little hut in the highlands. So he left after he buried his mother. He left with nothing but the clothes he was wearing and the lyre, carefully wrapped in a silken cloth. He had no goal, so he let the wind guide him. After hours of walking he came through a village and there he found shelter and a warm meal, in exchange for a few songs that warmed the elderly couple’s hearts and let them forget the troubles of life for at least a few hours.

Since he left his home, his life has been passing in a gentle rhythm. He wanders the country; getting to know it in a whole new way. He always finds somewhere to stay for the night. He plays for the people who let him eat at their table and sleep in their barn or – when he’s lucky – in their guestroom, and they listen. When he’s done, they always ask him to play another song, their eyes dazed, and he plays until his throat feels sore and his fingers weak. But he always feels happy, when he sees the effect, his play has on people. With the time, he brings his play to perfection and that magical effect expands on the world around him. The wind changes direction for him, like it did for his mother. Trees, rocks and animals listen. But he’s still most happy, when people listen and smile, their eyes glazed over with memories of good times or with a nice warm dream, evoked by his music.

Some people tell him, he could be more than just a travelling musician. Some people tell him, he should search for his father, the king. That he should seek money and power. Be someone. But Fitz feels no such needs. He leads a simple life. It’s like he’s a leave floating here and there driven by a breeze. And it’s alright. Well. At least on most days, Fitz’s sure he doesn’t need more. But sometimes, when his fingers don’t seem to be able to elicit anything else from his lyre than long sad melodies, he feels like something is missing. It’s not power or money. It’s something else. But he can’t quite catch it.

However, he’s fine with how things are. He’s fine.

* * *

One day Fitz comes through a city by the ocean. It’s a lively place. A lot of traders of different countries bargain over exotic things like bananas and colourful pet parrots screeching in their cages. Fitz likes the combination of smells. Spices, fish and salt. His stomach growls when he walks past a man selling fresh fried fish. He offers to play and like always, everyone stops doing their thing around him, staring at him in awe as he plays the lyre and sings. He gets his fried fish and while he’s eating it, sitting on a barrel, a sailor suddenly approaches. “You’re the poet,” he states, and Fitz looks up surprised. “The poet who puts the wind to sleep with his play and makes even the rocks listening. So I heard. Are these stories true?” The sailor questions.

“Well. Yes,” Fitz says, scrunching his nose. “But, it’s more my lyre that does all these things. I don’t know where its magic comes from exactly. I’m just playing it.” He involuntarily tightens the grip around the lyre. He hopes this man doesn’t intent to steal it …

But then the sailor laughs. It’s a full belly laugh, and it makes his eyes sparkle in a way that makes Fitz’s stomach flutter. “When you’re playing it, you’re controlling it, love,” the other man points out.

Fitz shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say to that. And why does this man call him love?

The sailor smiles brightly “Well, I’m Lance Hunter.” He offers his hand and Fitz shakes it. “Fitz,” he murmurs. Unlike a lot of other people, Lance doesn’t ask him if that’s his real name. Fitz would have explained that his unknown father called him Leopold, but his mother almost never used that name. Instead, she called him Leo. After she died, he couldn’t stand to hear someone say his name. It hurt to much. So he decided to go by his surname. Why not. It was his name after all. He could do with it what he wanted.

“So, Fitz … I have an offer,” Lance tells him, sitting beside. He’s so close Fitz can feel his warmth. Lance tells him about a remote island, no one has ever visited. Lance and his fellow sailor friends want to reach it. They want to cross the ocean and manoeuvre through a dangerous reef maze to get to that island and maybe settle there. But they know from vague tales, that sirens live in mountain caves around the island. They wait for ships and when one approaches, they start to sing their strange high-pitched songs, lurking all men into their clutches and eating them. Lance asks Fitz to accompany them and play his lyre, to calm the ocean and distract the men from the siren songs. He offers gold. A lot of it. And adventures, he says with a wink. Adventures Fitz can’t even imagine … “What lies across that ocean,” Lance says, pointing towards it, “Will either make us very rich or very poor. Or it’ll kill us. But I bet, it’s worth it.”

The ocean … Fitz looks at the smooth azure surface and feels a hint of fear, but it’s quickly drowned out by unexpected rush of excitement. He’s not interested in gold. But … He’s never been on an adventure before. It sounds dangerous and he’s not sure he’s made for being on a ship, but who knows … Maybe this journey would bring him the one vague thing, he feels is missing in his quiet simple life. He looks at Lance, whose eyes sparkle in excitement as he’s staring at the ocean, and feels his stomach flutter again. “I’m in,” he says, and Lance beams at him.

* * *

No. Fitz was definitely not made for being on a ship.

The first few days, he spends hanging over the railing and emptying his stomach into the waves until there’s only bitter sour bile left. Hunter pats his back and laughs, telling him, he’s going to get used to it. Fitz doubts it. But with the time, he’s getting less nauseous and one evening, he can even enjoy the starry night sky that seems to stretch out endlessly far above them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lance whispers, sitting beside Fitz, who can only hum in response.

It’s beautiful indeed. And after a moment, he takes his lyre and plays a few songs. Lance listens in awe, not interrupting, until Fitz is done and the last tone fades. “You’re a magician, Fitz,” he says, completely serious. Fitz laughs. “And you’re an idiot,” he tells Lance, pushing his shoulder slightly.

Lance looks at him, then he suddenly reaches out, cups Fitz’s face in his calloused warm palms and pulls him into a kiss.

Fitz makes a surprised noise into Lance’s mouth, who groans softly and puts a hand on the back of Fitz’s head, running his fingers through the unruly curls there. It feels good. Everything does. Fitz closes his eyes and feels.

They kiss a long time and when they stop to catch their breath, they look at each other, smiling.

“Ok?” Lance asks hoarsely, suddenly looking a bit worried. A bit less like his usual careless happy self.

“Ok,” Fitz nods. “That … felt nice.”

Lance chuckles. He seems relieved. “I’m glad. I was scared I smell too much like fish.”

Fitz shakes his head. Lance smells like the ocean. Salty and exciting.

There’s a moment of silence. The waves break against the ship gently. A soothing rushing noise. It makes Fitz feel sleepy. He leans toward Lance and puts his head against his chest, closing his eyes. Lance exhales a soft sigh and runs his fingers through Fitz’s hair.

Sleep comes quick. And it’s peaceful.

* * *

In the following days, Fitz and Lance get to know each other better. Fitz likes him. A lot more than he liked anyone else. He plays his lyre every night, and Lance listens. They share a certain bond. Fitz knows now, what was missing in his life. A friend. Love. Souls sharing secrets. The pleasant feeling of making someone happy.

One day, there’s excited shouting. “We’re there,” Lance states, leaning over the railing. “We made it.” Fitz follows his glance and swallows. He can see sharp rocks, reaching out of the water. They reached the reef. That means … there are going to be the sirens soon. Fitz swallows. He reaches for his lyre with slightly trembling fingers, ready to play it whenever he has to.

But suddenly, there’s more shouting. Lance frowns. He looks away from the cliffs, behind them, and his eyes widen. “No,” he breathes, paling.

There’s another ship behind them. It’s approaching fast. And it’s big.

In the end, it’s not the sirens who bring disaster over their journey. It’s other humans. 

They are attacked by pirates. Canons are fired and their ship is quickly burning. The other ship approaches, until pirates can jump over, carrying weapons. As battle breaks out around him, Fitz doesn’t know what to do. He has never learned to fight and he lost Lance somewhere in the chaos. He grips his lyra and hides behind some barrels, until someone finds him, pulling him out by his hair. Fitz kicks and punches blindly, landing some blows on soft skin and hearing grunts.

He can escape and runs away blindly. The next moment, something hits him hard from the side and he falls into the water like a stone, the ocean seemingly gripping at him with icy fingers, pulling him deeper and deeper. Fitz has never learned to swim. And panic is making it hard for him to think. Around him, burning wreckage hits the water and sink. Above him he can see bodies. Lifeless shells floating on the surface. He manages to think of Lance, and his heart clenches. Soon, Fitz feels lightheaded and dizzy. His surroundings get dark and blurry. He stops struggling against the ocean’s grip and closes his eyes. So that’s it. End of story …

His lungs burning and his head pounding, Fitz passes out. He doesn’t feel the hand closing around his wrist and pulling him up.

* * *

Fitz abruptly wakes up on a shore, surrounded by wreckage. He’s shivering in the chilly air, his clothes drenched in cold saltwater. First, he’s completely lost, blinking up at the sky, feeling nothing but numb confusion. Only slowly, he remembers what happened. God. The ship … The pirates. Lance. Lance! He sits up too fast and everything turns around him. With a groan, Fitz lays back into the sand. His stomach clenches. He coughs and some saltwater spills from his mouth. It burns in his lungs.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over him. Fitz looks up and his breath falters, as he stares right into a pair of curious brown eyes. They belong to a woman. A woman sitting beside him in the sand, watching him with her face tilted to one side. Her long brown hair surrounds her face like a halo. Her face which is … beautiful. She’s beautiful. 

Fitz carefully sits up. The woman backs away from him slightly and suddenly, huge wings spread out to her sides, flapping slightly. Fitz freezes. His stomach drops, as he stares at the wings, consisting of colourful feathers glimmering in the sunlight. “You … You’re a siren,” he whispers, cold fear rushing through him. Oh God. Now he survived a bunch of pirates just to be eaten by some mythical creature. Half human half bird.

The woman nods, raising her chin and folding her wings so they lay against her back. “I am. You’re scared. Why? I saved you,” she tells him. Her voice is clear and bright. Melodic. 

“Uh,” Fitz says, blinking. “Well … Are you sirens not luring men into your caves with your songs and eat them? Be-because that’s what I heard.”

The siren scoffs and glares at him. “That’s what you heard? Oh, so you’re believing all the stories you heard but don't want to make your own experiences?” She asks, her voice cold now. “It’s true we lurk some men into the cliff. But only those, who have bad intentions. Like slaughtering whales or dolphins. Besides, humans do quite a good job at killing each other. Like you experienced now too."

“Oh.” Fitz swallows and scratches the back of his pounding head. “I … I’m sorry?”

She shrugs. “It’s alright. I admit some sirens aren’t fond of humans. But that’s no surprise, since they don’t care what or who lands in their fishing nets or get hurt by the battles they fight, with their iron and fire, spreading destruction everywhere.”

Fitz doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Humans are indeed quite terrible when you look at it that way.

The siren watches him for a moment, then she comes closer again, reaching out a hand to run fingers through his hair. He fights the urge to back away. If she was dangerous or wanted to harm him, she could have done it ages ago. And she didn’t have to pull him out of the water in the first place …

“You’re the first human I see up close,” she says, scrunching her nose. “You don’t look very dangerous. What’s your name?”

“Fitz.”

“Fitz,” she repeats, like she’s tasting the name on her tongue. “Fitz. Fitz …”

“And yours?” He asks carefully.

“Jemma,” she says.

A beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, uh siren.

Jemma continues to study him, her eyes gliding over his body. When they fall on his lyre, she frowns. “What’s this?”

Fitz reaches for the lyre. He’s relieved he didn’t lose it forever. “It’s my lyre. I … I make music with it.”

“Music … Show me,” Jemma demands, her hazel eyes sparkling in excited curiosity again.

Fitz nods. He hopes he can play, with his fingers still feeling frozen. He takes his lyre and thinks about which song to play. He can’t play something happy. Not now. Not while thinking about Lance maybe being dead. Not with the uncertainty of his own future. So he settles for a slow, slightly sad melody.

Jemma watches him silently, her eyes widening when he starts to sing.

When Fitz is done, she says, “This is nice. Teach me.”

“Uh. Alright. But … Could you … I’m very cold. And I don’t know where to sleep or what to eat …”

“I can help you. There’s plenty food on this island,” Jemma says, her eyes sticking to the lyre. “But you teach me.”

“I will,” Fitz says softly.

* * *

Jemma is a fast learner. In the shortest amount of time, she manages to play two songs on the lyre, which seems to make her very happy. And she’s stunning. Whenever she spreads her wings and flies up, Fitz feels like he’s with a goddess. She brings him food and helps him to build a little hut on the shore. When he makes a fire for the first time, to fry something, she hisses and backs away, but she still watches him from he distance. Eventually, she comes to sit beside him, watching the flames dance and the sparks flying up in the air. “Warm,” she points out, holding her hands towards the fire. “Nice …”

Fitz smiles and starts to play his lyre. It makes the fire dance differently.

Jemma listens. Eventually, she says quietly, “My people don’t exactly like what I do. They say I shouldn’t help you. But,” she quickly adds, when Fitz looks at her alarmed, “You don’t need to be scared. They won’t harm you. I told them you’re good. They have to know not all humans are bad.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Fitz says and tries to not imagine a group of raging sirens ripping him apart and throwing his limbs into the ocean. 

Jemma smiles at him. “I like you. Your music is nice. And you look good. I like how you look.”

Fitz feels himself blushing. “Uh … thanks. You … you’re beautiful.”

“Do you think so?” Jemma asks, tilting her head and her feathers rustle softly. She seems pleased.

Fitz nods.

Jemma smiles. It makes her eyes sparkle and Fitz feels warmer.

They spend a lot of time together. Jemma asks him to tell her everything about humans. She tells him about the sirens and the island. About the animals living here. There are even monkeys. Fitz always wanted to see a wild one. He teaches her to play more songs on the lyre and she’s getting good. He loves laying in the sand and listening to her.

They laugh together. They watch the stars at night. They kiss. They make love on the beach.

They love. For years.

Fitz thinks he has never been so happy in his life before. He still thinks about Lance often and wishes, he knew what happened to him. But the world doesn’t want to tell him. Instead, it offers him a life with Jemma who even starts to sleep in the hut with him. And he takes it.

* * *

Fitz dies being a hero.

He would have never thought it would end this way. But it does.

It’s a stormy day. He had to fix the roof of his makeshift hut on the beach twice already. The world is raging around him. The palm trees are bending under the force of the wind, their crowns almost touching the sand.

Jemma is nowhere to be seen and Fitz figures she’s hiding inside her family’s cave. Her family … She wanted to introduce him to them tomorrow. It took a lot of time to convince them to agree to such a meeting. Fitz thinks about what to say to a bunch of sirens who might want to push him off a cliff for wanting to marry their daughter, when suddenly, the fog laying over the ocean lifts a little and he sees a ship.

A ship which is burning and obviously struggling to keep over water. Fitz stops working and watches horrified, the flames grow higher, lightening up the dark stormy sky. He thinks he can hear desperate screams … And the next moment, he sees people jumping off the ship.

He bites his lip. He can’t stay here when people are in danger. He throws his tools into the sand and runs towards the ocean, jumping into the unruly water and swimming as fast as he can. When he reaches the little ship, he climbs on it with a lot of struggle and jumps right into a chaos. There’s fire everywhere and the ship is aching under it. He coughs as smoke fills his lungs and looks around, trying to see someone. Anyone …

Suddenly, he hears screaming and runs into that direction. He sees a door, half blocked by fallen wood and burning barrels. A woman is desperately trying to get the door open enough to get out, a little girl pushing beside her, crying. Their clothes and the collars they are wearing mark them as slaves.

Fitz runs to them. He reaches into the burning mess and pulls with all his strength, while the woman and child look at him surprised. He manages to remove the wood and the door gets open enough for them to push through. The woman is stammering breathless thank yous. Fitz only nods and presses his sore hands against his torso, biting his lip. He wants to tell them they have to get off the ship, when he hears a somber creaking above them. His stomach drops.

“Run!” Fitz screams. He doesn’t get to see if the woman and her daughter make it. The ship collapses around him and there’s no time to react, before a heap of burning rubble falls on him and buries him. It hurts. But only for a short moment. Everything gets dark and when he tries to move, he can’t. He’s stuck. Feeling numb with shock, he leans back, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. He doesn’t know how much time passes, until suddenly, there’s light blinding him, as the rubble is removed from his body piece by piece.

A face appears, a voice calls out his name. It’s Jemma. God. He’s so happy to see her …

She pulls at him, but it’s no use. His legs are stuck. Fitz thinks they might be broken. He wants to tell Jemma, but all that comes out his throat, is a choked gurgle. He tastes copper on his lips. His side is pulsing rhythmically and when he looks down, Fitz sees his body impaled on a sharp piece of wood, getting soaked by his blood. Oh. With a sudden hint of clarity, Fitz realizes he’s going to die.

Jemma is crying. Her tears are falling on his face. He reaches out for her. At least, he’s trying. But he’s too weak. His body won’t obey his commands anymore. “Je-Jemma,” he murmurs. “It’s ok.”

She shakes her head, her wings flapping frantically. “Fitz … Don’t … Please …”

“It’s ok,” he breathes again. It takes him all the strength that’s left in him. It’s fine.

Darkness creeps into his field of vision. He doesn’t fight it. He closes his eyes.

It’s alright. He lived a good life.

It’s alright.

It’s …

* * *

Fitz opens his eyes and stares at a very blue sky. He frowns and looks around. He’s laying on a meadow covered in wildflowers, surrounded by high fir trees. This looks familiar … And the next moment, he knows where he is. It’s the meadow in front of his mother’s hut. He raises his head and yes, he can see it.

Fitz sits up carefully. This is strange … Shouldn’t he be on the beach with Jemma? Jemma … Oh. He suddenly remembers. A burning ship. A heap of rubble. Jemma crying. He touches his side, but there’s no wound. And his legs aren’t broken.

But … he died, didn’t he?

“Yes,” a calm voice says behind him, and he turns around startled, seeing a tall figure wrapped in a dark coat. “You died.”

Fitz frowns. He can’t see the face of this … creature. “Who …”

“I’m Death,” the figure says. “Or Hades. I have many names. Call me what you want.”

Oh. Makes sense. So, this is the Underworld? He … expected something different.

“Underworld looks different for everyone,” Death says. “It depends on what you’ve been missing most.”

Fitz swallows and gets up. He instinctively reaches for his lyre. But it’s gone. “Can I ask you a question?” He asks Death, who tilts their head and nods. “Is Lance Hunter here?”

“No,” Death says after a moment.

Fitz exhales a relieved sigh. So Lance made it. Wherever he is, he’s alive. Good. Maybe he got the adventure he wanted in the end …

“You’re always caring so much, my son,” a bright voice says behind him. Fitz gasps. He knows this voice. That’s …

“Mum,” he breathes stunned and turns around. And there she is, standing right in front of him, smiling. “My son,” she says warmly. “My brave wonderful son. Look at how grown-up you are.”

“Mum,” Fitz repeats. Tears burn in his eyes, as he runs toward her and hugs her close, inhaling her scent. Her warmth is all around him as he presses his face into the crook of her neck. “I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

Death watches the scene in front of them for a moment, before dissolving, leaving nothing of themselves behind. 

* * *

It’s a week since Jemma has buried Fitz, and she’s not alright.

Her family and friends try to help her through it, but they didn’t know him, and they don’t understand how she feels. So, when it gets too much, she leaves and sits by his grave. It’s between two coconut trees. A lot of monkeys use to sit in them. Jemma thinks Fitz would have liked the place.

She still can’t believe she wasn’t there to help him, to save him … She had this strange feeling of premonition, so she left the cave despite the storm and went looking for Fitz. He wasn’t in his hut. She only found his tools laying in the sand. Then she saw the burning boat and people jumping off it. Something inside her chest screamed. She flew there and found Fitz’s lyra laying on the deck unharmed. She searched for him, calling out his name. Finally, she saw only his hand sticking out of a heap of rubbles.

While digging him out she was still full of hope. He would be injured without a doubt … But she could have saved him. She knows healing corals. She knows where they grow. She would have done anything to save him. Anything.

But then she saw the piece of wood piercing his side and the blood pooling out, and she knew he would die.

It happened so fast … There was nothing she could do.

All what remained was his lyre.

She runs her fingers over the smooth wood and the strings, producing a soft tone that makes her sob. He’s never going to play again … Out of a feeling, Jemma starts to play a song Fitz showed her. He told her it reminded him of his mother.

It’s a calm and slow melody. It soothes her heart a little, but at the same time, it makes the tears fall freely.

She plays and soon it starts to rain, as if the sky is weeping with her.

One day later, Jemma runs into Ward. One of the siren men who’d wanted to bond to her. He was very sure she would choose him. He never noticed she wasn’t interested in him the slightest. Jemma guesses he was too busy to think about himself, his oh so well-defined body and strong wings, to notice her disgust.

Of course, Ward was raging when he realized she dismissed him for a human man. He never made a secret of that. He was the one, who tried to convince the other siren to drown Fitz.

Jemma runs into him in the cave and quickly tries to push past him, not interested in his mockery. But he grabs her arm and hisses, “I heard you playing this stupid instrument yesterday. You play so good … I bet you could even persuade Hades with your music, to give him back your beloved ridiculous weak human,” he says and laughs. It’s a disgusting, sly laugh and she hurries to get away from him. But his words … Somehow they stuck.

 _I bet you could even persuade Hades with your music_ …

An idea blooms in Jemma’s chest.

* * *

“I have to see him.”

“Jemma … It’s impossible. You can’t go into the underworld if you’re alive!”

“I have to at least try, Daisy.”

“It’s insane! It won’t work!” Daisy calls out desperately, her wings flapping in distress. “Look … I know you loved this man. And I tried to understand it. I … I wanted you to be happy. But now he died. His time came. And you can’t change the past!”

Jemma shakes her head. “I’m sorry. But I have to try,” she says firmly, turning around and spreading her wings. She hears Daisy sighing behind her. But her sister doesn’t try to hold her back another time and for that, Jemma is grateful.

She flies to Fitz’s grave and sits in the sand, taking the lyre. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and starts to play and sing. She lays all her feelings into it. Her heart and soul. Her thoughts focus around one thing …

_Please … If you hear me, Hades, please give me a chance. Please …_

When she’s done with the song, she opens her eyes and gasps. Her surroundings have changed. She’s sitting on a rock, that’s surrounded by clouds. In front of her stands a figure wrapped in a dark coat. Jemma instinctively knows it’s Hades. She did it …

“Ah. The famous lyra,” Hades says calmly. “It was once played by someone else. Now you have it. Used right, it’s a powerful thing.”

Jemma swallows heavily. “The love of my life played it,” she whispers. “Fitz.”

Hades tilts their head. “Yes. I remember him. His soul reached underworld not that long ago …”

Jemma nods. „He died too soon and … and right when we were ready to make the next step. I … Please, he’s … I have to see him.” Her voice breaks and tears run over her face.

„You really love him,“ Hades states, voice still calm and indifferent.

“Yes,” Jemma breathes, sniffing.

“Ah. Love. It makes us do desperate things. You know, you’re good at playing the lyra. Not as good as he was. But I bet you could excel at it if you’d exercise enough … What do you want, Jemma?”

“All I want, is to see him again.”

“And what if I would tell you to stay in return. To play for me all the time. What would you say?”

“I would say yes,” Jemma says without hesitation.

“Oh young love. Sweet and careless. Courageous. I have to say, it’s tempting. To listen to this godly music down here. But I can’t force you to stay down here. You’re not dead. I’m going to let you see your love and because of the lyre, I grant you the chance to take him up with you. But … I have to warn you, girl. He might not want to leave.”

“I’ll at least try,” Jemma says, feeling hopeful. “Please … Just let me see him.”

“As you wish,” Hades says and raises a hand.

The scene changes. Jemma stands on a meadow, covered in wildflowers. She looks around and her heart seems to miss a beat, when she sees Fitz, kneeling in the moss, his feet bare. He’s working on a hut, like he did on the beach.

“Fitz,” Jemma breathes, the tears coming back. “Oh, Fitz …” She stumbles toward him, whispering his name.

Finally, Fitz turns around. When he sees her, his eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. “Jemma?”  
  


* * *

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Fitz says, shaking his head. They are sitting side by side in the grass. Jemma smiles weakly. “I … I couldn’t not try. Your lyre helped.”

Fitz looks at the instrument and smiles. “You play it good. You might use it better than I did.”

Jemma clears her throat. “It’s yours, Fitz … Listen. Hades told me I have a chance to take you up with me again. You don’t have to stay here. You … We could live as we did before. In the hut on the shore.”

Fitz looks at her and for a moment, he looks longing. But suddenly, he lowers his head and stares at his hands, swallowing. “Jemma … I don’t really know how to tell you this. It’s … The underworld isn’t what you might think it is. I found my mother. I … She’s here. And she’s real. Here. I missed her so much, Jemma. All the things we couldn’t tell each other …”

Jemma’s stomach drops a bit. “Oh.”

He looks at her, and his eyes are warm. Full of love. But there’s also something in them, that tells her how this is going to end. Something final.

Jemma swallows. “You want to stay here,” she states, her throat dry. “You want to stay. With her.”

Fitz starts to look guilty. “Jemma …”

She has a moment to decide what to say, what to do. She looks at him, feeling how much she wants him back, and realizes, it’s not her choice to make. He died and now this is his world. His mother is his world.

“No. No, it’s alright,” she breathes, her throat feeling tight. “I … I understand. Look. I just want you to know, that I love you. I love you so much. I will always love you.”

“I know, Jemma,” Fitz whispers and wraps his arms around her, drawing her into a hug. His fingers start to play with her feathers, just like she likes it. “I love you too. And one day, you’re going to join us. You. Hunter. Daisy. Everyone … Death is just the beginning of another adventure.”

She nods, crying against his neck. “Another adventure,” she repeats, smiling.

“Yeah. I had a few of them," Fitz grins. "I travelled the highlands. I made people happy with my songs. I crossed the ocean. I was saved and loved by a siren. I saved people. Now this life is over and I'm here. I'm okay with that. And Jemma … You have the lyre. You can do amazing things with it. Listen … Its magic, I don’t know exactly how it works. But you can figure it out. You’re so smart. You can use it to keep men away from your island. To prevent anyone from being killed. To prevent animals from being slaughtered. You can also save ships from being destroyed in storms. You can do a lot of amazing things, Jemma.”

“Yes,” she says, looking at him one last time, cupping his face in his hands and kissing it. At least they get to say goodbye decently. Who gets to do this after their loved one dies? “I’ll try. Goodbye Fitz. May we meet again.”

“Goodbye Jemma,” he whispers.

The words follow her. They echo inside her, even when she’s back with the living, sitting in front of Fitz’s grave, crying.

Later, Daisy finds her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, sister?” She asks softly.

Jemma shakes her head. “No. Not really. But … I will be.”

Daisy bites her lip. “What are you going to do now?”

Jemma looks down at the lyra and smiles weakly. “I’m going to make music.”


End file.
